


but you're gonna get more than you bargained for

by sleeplessmiles



Series: iscariot [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant through 2x11, Gen, Gun Violence, Past Brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:21:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3520418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma becomes the reluctant travel companion of Ward and Kara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you're gonna get more than you bargained for

**Author's Note:**

> Now with added canon compliance!!
> 
> Seriously, I didn't have any particular plans to expand upon the first section until 2x11 happened. I simply couldn't resist the set-up. So this universe includes the events of that episode, but then diverges from that point.
> 
> There's also a bit of violence in this one, so watch out for that.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

 

She’s been with them for too long.

She’s been with them for too long, and she knows this because she’s noticed how Kara favours one side when she walks. It’s only subtle; Kara herself is most likely completely unaware of it. 

But Jemma isn’t.

Jemma is hyperaware of it.

Jemma is hyperaware of Ward’s eyes flicking over to her every couple of minutes, as though attempting to read her thoughts. She’s hyperaware of the fact that they no longer have a tail, that SHIELD doesn’t know of her whereabouts.

And she’s hyperaware of the fact that the knife in her pocket, the one she keeps on her person at all times, the one she rests her hand upon whenever she feels threatened – the one Trip gave to her at the Hub – has remained untouched for several hours, now.

She’s seen too much. She’s feeling too safe.

She’s been with them for too long.

This needs to end.

 

-

-

 

They’ve been walking for around half a day when Jemma finally calls it quits, drawing to a halt. The terrain around them is pretty barren, with only small patches of forest nearby, and if she were to hazard a guess, she’d say they’re a substantial distance from anywhere helpful.

Maybe she could have chosen a better location to make her stand.

(But this needs to _end._ )

‘I should be quite alright from here,’ she announces.

The other two trail to a stop before her, turning around at the unexpected contribution (she hasn’t spoken for at least a couple of hours – not since rather vehemently rejecting the power bar Ward had offered her). Kara casts a quick look around them, expression clearly broadcasting how dubious a decision she finds it.

‘Really?’

‘Do you even know where we are?’ Ward asks, regarding Jemma with that infuriatingly doubtful face that had characterised their early days of knowing each other. It had almost amused her at the time. Right now, it only worsens her mood. 

Because of course she doesn’t. Jemma hasn’t a bloody clue where they are.

Since she’ll sooner die than tell him that, however, she only juts out her chin defiantly.

‘I’ll regain my bearings,’ she insists.

Ward draws himself up to his full height, somehow managing to look even less convinced than before, and walks over to her.

‘How.’

‘That’s none of your concern,’ she shoots back, feeling her latent rage bubble to the surface once more. He doesn’t roll his eyes, but he gets close enough to it to set Jemma on edge. She straightens her shoulders.

She will fight for this.

‘Look. I’m not going to just _abandon_ you to – ’ 

‘That’s not your decision anymore!’ she hisses in warning, taking a threatening step forward. 

He matches her advance. ‘You told me to get you somewhere _safe_ – ’ 

‘ – And as I _said_ , this will suffice, so you’re going to need to – ’

‘Whoa, whoa, okay!’ Kara yells, eyes wide. She physically steps in between them, facing Ward and forcing him backwards.

‘Kara – ’ 

‘ _Grant_ ,’ she all but growls, giving him a stern look. He sighs angrily, but backs off a few steps.

Then, she turns to Jemma.

‘Now. Jemma – I mean. Simmons?’ She winces. ‘Can I call you…?’

‘Jemma’s fine,’ she replies snippily, still glowering at Ward.

_Prick._

‘Great. Jemma. There’s a guy not half an hour’s walk from here, ex-SHIELD. He should be able to get us out.’

She forces herself to take a deep breath then, considering that for a moment. That… actually sounds like a really attractive offer. As much as she wants this unsteady alliance to be done with, it’s a much better idea than waiting around here for death to claim her.

All she needs is to work out where the hell she is, and she’ll be fine.

‘Out where?’ she asks.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ward provides, voice level. ‘It’s best to clear out of an area once your cover’s been blown.’

‘I’m well aware of that, thank you,’ she snaps at him. _I learnt that from you_ , is what she thinks. Get in, get out, don’t look over your shoulder to see the damage left in your wake.

Except she _did_ , didn’t she? That’s why she’s out here in the open, constantly on alert, instead of tucked away in a considerably safer SHIELD lab. She made the cardinal mistake.

She looked back.

‘Your man. He’s trustworthy?’ Jemma asks Kara quietly. The other woman gives her a close-lipped smile.

‘Part of the network, so he’s the best we’ve got.’

Jemma stares blankly.

_The network?_

‘She wouldn’t know about the network, Kara.’

Jemma bristles at the way he says it – not condescending, exactly, but with the resigned voice a parent might use when discussing a petulant child with their partner. She refuses to give him the reaction he so clearly wants, though, so she simply looks to Kara for an explanation.

‘Right. After SHIELD fell,’ the other woman begins, glancing questioningly over at Ward. He nods. ‘Not everyone wanted to work for Hydra or rebuild SHIELD. A lot of us just wanted to shoot through, lay low until it all blew over. So there’s a kind of underground network, I guess, to get people out of the country and escape detection.’

‘That’s…’ Jemma trails off, considering it. She’d often wondered what she’d have done if she wasn’t with SHIELD-616 at the time of the fall, whether she’d have fought or fled. She likes to think she’d have fought, that in every universe, Jemma Simmons would fight, but the truth is she isn’t entirely sure. She isn’t entirely sure about _anything_ anymore.

So the whole system seems rather ingenious, really. Only – 

‘Isn’t that a bit easy to infiltrate?’

Kara shrugs. ‘Hasn’t happened yet, so it’s still our best option.’

Jemma thinks of the past few years, of trail of death she’s unwittingly unleashed upon the world, all in her quest to protect it. If the network is to collapse eventually, she knows, it’ll be because of her.

She’s the harbinger of doom.

But she’s got nowhere else, right now. She’s got nowhere else to go.

‘So you’ll come with us?’ Kara asks.

Jemma doesn’t look at Ward. She doesn’t.

She _can’t_.

‘I will.’

‘Good,’ Kara decides, pleased. She hitches her bag onto her back again. ‘You were gonna die of exposure out here, anyway.’

Jemma scoffs. ‘You _are_ aware that I grew up in England, right? This is child’s play.’

‘Sure thing, English.’ 

As they set off again, Jemma catches Ward regarding her carefully, seeming considerably less annoyed than he’d been a few moments ago. Refusing to dwell on that, she only increases her pace so that she’s walking next to Kara instead.

This _really_ needs to end.

 

-

-

 

Sure enough, some twenty minutes later (Jemma had been setting a rather furious pace) they happen upon a deserted-looking gas station. When they draw close enough, Kara takes a brief peek through the window before rocking back on her heels, satisfied.

‘He’s here. This shouldn’t take long,’ she quickly assures them. ‘You two just sit tight for a few minutes, stand watch outside.’

Hold on. Jemma feels her eyes widen in alarm.

_You two?_

Her and Ward, alone?

She steps forward. ‘Perhaps I could – ’

‘ – Nope. Not happening. Back soon!’ Kara calls over her shoulder, too cheerful, and then she disappears into the service station.

Struggling to keep the thunderous expression off her face, Jemma weighs up her options. She could follow Kara inside, except that might damage their chances of gaining safe passage. She could wander over to the other side of the building, thus gaining herself a better vantage point, except that might leave her more exposed to attack.

She could always storm off, leave him on his own, but then, she’s not a twelve year old.

With a weary sigh, she leans back against the side of the building. Keeping watch it is, apparently. She chews on her lip as she scans their surroundings, pointedly ignoring the man to her left.

Ward seems to have a different idea.

‘So,’ he begins, almost immediately. His tone is light and conversational, and Jemma’s eyes flutter shut out of sheer anger. ‘How’s Fitz?’

‘Don’t,’ she warns, opening her eyes and gritting her teeth.

‘Ah. Back to the silent treatment, are we?’ he wonders aloud, leaning against the wall a few feet away from her.

She scoffs, an ugly, bitter sound that should feel more foreign than it does.

‘Why do you suddenly care?’

He shakes his head at that, a sardonic grin tugging at his lips. Jemma isn’t used to seeing that sort of self-loathing painted across his sharp features, and she isn’t quite sure what to do with it. It throws her off for a moment.

‘Nothing sudden about it,’ he tells her honestly, looking up at her. And the thing is, he appears genuine. He _sounds_ genuine.

But Jemma has fallen for that before.

Averting her eyes, she worries at a smudge on the ground with one boot-clad foot, silently fuming.

‘So he’s good then?’ Ward continues.

_Oh, for the love of –_

‘I don’t know!’ Jemma blurts out, a hint of hysteria creeping into the outer edges of her voice. From the corner of her eye, she sees Ward raise his eyebrows at the outburst. She forces herself to take a deep, calming breath.

It has very little effect on the pained turmoil within her.

‘I don’t know,’ she repeats, much more quietly. Then, with a twist of her lips to show how little it affects her (because it doesn’t affect her, it _doesn’t_ she’s put it behind her _it’s done_ ), she adds, ‘Probably looking after Skye, I suppose. The two of them seem to have the situation well in hand.’

Surprisingly, Ward falls silent at that, choosing only to regard her steadily. She stares obstinately ahead, refusing to privilege him with anything even approaching eye contact.

‘Skye hasn’t been with SHIELD for months now,’ he tells her eventually, voice too gentle.

Jemma’s stomach drops.

_Skye left?_

She turns to look at him, to search his face for even the most miniscule hint of falsehood, but she finds none.

She left?

Is she okay? Is she _alone_? Where would she go? To whom would she run?

_Oh God, is she even alive?_

Ward’s frowning at her now, a hint of alarm at the back of his gaze.

‘Simmons. How long have you been on your own?’ 

She only continues to gape at him, mind still racing furiously.

‘We’re good to go,’ comes Kara’s triumphant voice then, the petite ex-agent coming back into view, and it positively shatters the moment. Jemma tears her gaze from his and stares at the ground once more, trying to swallow down the raw fear threatening to overwhelm her. She can hear Ward sigh to himself.

Kara just stands between them, frowning a little.

‘Okay, I’m sensing this is worse than when I left.’ She looks between the two of them a couple more times, evaluating. ‘Actually. Better?’

Quickly recovering, Jemma raises her chin. ‘When do we leave?’ she asks, voice steely.

‘Worse, then,’ Kara mutters.

‘Kara,’ Ward cautions, shaking his head a little. She rolls her eyes, and Jemma feels another pang at the clear familiarity between the two. 

 _You gave this up,_ she suddenly wants to yell at Ward. _We had this, but you gave it up._

And yet, Jemma’s the one who ended up alone.

‘Martin says he’s got a truck going out in two hours,’ Kara is saying. ‘We’re welcome to sit up back with the cargo.’

Jemma opens her mouth to ask the obvious question, but Ward beats her to it.

‘Where’s it headed?’

Kara shrugs. ‘Upstate. We can hop off somewhere along the way.’

‘Sounds good.’

And then, as one, they turn to Jemma expectantly. They don’t ask; they won’t push her.

The respect affects her more than it should.

So, against her better judgement, she gives them a stiff little nod.

_Looks like I’m in this._

‘Alright! Agreement!’ Kara claps her hands together, smiling. ‘Go team.’ 

She takes off in the direction of the parking lot, a distinct bounce in her step, and Ward’s frowning at her with such a familiar brand of faux-gruffness that it almost makes Jemma a little unsteady on her feet.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ he calls out to Kara.

She whirls around to glare playfully at him.

‘Hey, you still act like an idiot every time you so much as shave, alright? I just got my _face_ back. Let me have this.’

‘Fine, fine,’ he mutters, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.

Jemma can only watch on, frozen in surprised silence, and she’s left wondering how much deeper she can bury herself in this charade before she loses herself completely.

(The answer is not a particularly comforting one.)

 

-

-

 

Jemma isn’t really sure what she’d expected when Kara said they’d be travelling in a ‘truck.’ She’s aware that there exist a multitude of differences in vernacular between England and the US – _clearly_ she’s aware, she went to school here for heaven’s sake – but she’s heard the term used for so many different vehicles by this point, she just couldn’t be sure.

Apparently, in this case, ‘truck’ means one of those van-type things with a canvas roof covering the back section. It’s a military-type vehicle, really, the sort you see transporting soldiers in movies. Jemma hadn’t been aware they even existed outside of film, but clearly they do.

She’s learning a lot these days, it seems.

At any rate, she’s seated right up the back of the truck, holding herself apart from the others so that she can peer out the opening and watch the woods fly past. The whole thing’s cathartic in a way she didn’t even know she needed, and she actually feels _calm_ , of all things – as though her lungs are pulling in air for the first time in weeks.

She just isn’t sure what to make of that, given her current company.

‘It’s pretty quiet, huh?’ Kara begins at length, voice overly casual. Jemma languidly pulls her gaze from the view, looking across to the other woman. Ward has his head tilted back to rest against a crate, eyes closed and a longsuffering expression on his face.

She frowns at the sight, uncomprehending. What…?

‘Super quiet,’ Kara continues. ‘It’d be really great if someone were to _fill_ the quiet, wouldn’t it.’

_Ah._

‘Let’s see, do any of us have any interesting stories? About what we’ve been doing for the past – ’

‘Kara.’

‘Grant,’ she parrots.

Ward opens his eyes and the two of them stare at each other again, having some sort of silent exchange. Jemma only barely suppresses an eye roll; she’s _really_ not in the mood to have things kept from her.

So she intervenes, giving Kara what she’s clearly looking for.

‘It’s been about five months,’ Jemma supplies, answering Ward’s question of a few hours ago. She stares down at the dirty, scuffed up floor, but she knows, even without looking, that he’ll understand it for what it is.

Not forgiveness. Not absolution.

Truce.

Momentary, necessary truce.

After a decent stretch of time passes with no response, Jemma glances back up at them. Somewhat predictably, they’re both staring at her. Then:

‘You’ve been living in that dump for five whole _months_?’ Kara exclaims.

‘ _No_ ,’ Jemma insists, immediately defensive. She shifts on the spot a little. ‘I move around every few weeks.’

Something like pride flickers across Ward’s face at that. Jemma has to look away. 

‘Way to go, English,’ Kara enthuses, and yeah, apparently that’s a moniker that’s here to stay. ‘We’ve only tracked you for the past fortnight.’

Oh. Well, then. 

‘Was it something with May?’ Ward asks.

Jemma’s head snaps towards him again, and she feels a familiar flare of anger at the assumption. ‘What makes you say that?’

He only holds up his hands in surrender.

‘Your voice, when you mentioned her. Back at the apartment.’

Jemma deflates a little. She supposes that’s fair. 

She looks at her two unlikely companions then, deliberating. There’s absolutely no reason for her to tell them the story – for her to tell _him_ the story. He hasn’t earned this, and it’s hers to share. Hers to safeguard.

It’s just…

Jemma chews worriedly at her lower lip.

It’s just that it’s been so long since she’s gotten to really _talk_. Her interactions these days tend to be limited to the bare basics, nothing more than pleasantries that leave a bitter taste in her mouth, and she’s so tired of it. She’s so, _so_ tired of it. 

She doesn’t get the privilege of making human connections anymore, and she knows it’s for the best. She’s mostly resigned to that fact, too.

But today, Jemma Simmons is feeling selfish.

(She’s just so tired of _fighting_.)

‘May and I had… a disagreement, of sorts,’ she begins, immediately cringing at the wording. That’s certainly one way of putting it, anyway.

Kara’s looking at Jemma with too much understanding in her dark gaze. ‘So that’s why you…’

Jemma cuts her off with a quick shake of her head.

‘I was already leaving. The disagreement was, well.’ _Like a knife twisting in my gut._

She swallows thickly.

‘May didn’t want me to go,’ is what she settles on, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

‘But you did anyway,’ Ward drawls, and Jemma thinks he almost sounds impressed.

_Good. Be impressed. Be in awe at how thoroughly I fixed what you broke._

(If only, she thinks, that were the case. If only she’d fixed anything, rather than shattering it all into even tinier slivers.)

(He was in _fragments_.)

‘She got you all set up?’ Ward continues, blessedly derailing that train of thought.

‘She tried,’ Jemma answers honestly, trying to forget the sheer desperation that had coloured all of their interactions in that final week. It’s no use, though; the memories have been seared into her very skin by this point, a dirty sheen of which she cannot cleanse herself.

‘But I wanted to be on my own.’ 

_Say it enough and you’ll start to believe it._

‘What happened?’ Kara asks finally, and her meaning is abundantly clear: _why did you leave?_ But there’s no malice in her voice, only genuine interest, and it’s this fact, more than anything else, that has Jemma rolling her shoulders and readying herself to tell the story. To put words to what happened, for the very first time.

_Here goes nothing._

‘I reacted poorly. To… when Trip…’ she trails off, glancing quickly between them to ensure they’re on the same page as her. Their expressions are softened, but she’s surprised to find it doesn’t irritate her as much as it might’ve. 

(Ward looks slightly pained. She isn’t prepared to deal with the ramifications of that just yet.)

‘Raina had thorns all over her, and she slaughtered some of my techs, right in front of me. I thought…’ She sighs, shutting her eyes for a moment. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought.’

‘It does matter,’ Kara immediately corrects, suddenly vehement, and for all her earlier lightheartedness, her voice is now achingly serious. Jemma meets the other woman’s eyes, and she can see it all written there – the pain and agony of all she’d been forced to do, of having her freedom snatched from her in the cruelest of ways. The sheer helplessness.

‘Thoughts _matter_ , Jemma,’ Kara insists fiercely. Jemma can only nod, swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat.

Because Kara would know. Kara, of all people, would _know_.

Ward’s looking at Kara with such care, such pain for her experiences, and Jemma realises with a jolt that for the first time, it doesn’t make her angry. She isn’t bitter about it. She’s feeling _grateful_ , of all things, that Kara had him here.

He always _was_ good at catching you when you fell.

With a grimace, she relents.

‘I thought that it was a virus, that Raina was contagious. I suggested we might have to undertake certain measures in order to contain the spread.’

Sudden understanding passes across Ward’s face.

‘You said this in front of Skye,’ he guesses. She shakes her head.

‘Fitz.’ Off his curious look, she tightens her lips, swallowing down the familiar thrum of pain shooting through her. ‘Fitz intercepted her results and kept them from me. Let me believe there was risk of an epidemic, just so that I wouldn’t…’

Jemma doesn’t need to finish that sentence; she isn’t sure she can, truthfully. Putting words to it seems almost insulting, as though the agonising betrayal of it all can be contained within a few measly letters.

Luckily, it seems she doesn’t have to. It seems that Ward has worked out what she’s getting at.

He looks faintly disgusted, actually, and it really shouldn’t matter to Jemma that he understands. That he’s on her side. It really, _really_ shouldn’t matter.

(It does.)

‘Wouldn’t… put her down?’ Kara clarifies gently. Jemma only nods.

‘So. Fitz believed me capable of… _that_. Skye – ’ she stops awkwardly, her heart almost physically aching at the thought of the girl, before forcing the sentence out. ‘Skye resented me, for all the stuff I’d unwittingly said in front of her.’

Ward sits up a little. ‘I’m sure she – ’

‘No,’ Jemma says sharply, because there’s no way he can possibly understand this one. There’s no way he can understand the ugly swirl of emotion that was rife during that period, the way it bled from them in steady streams, unable to be stemmed. It transcends description.

And the thing is, Skye had forgiven her in the end – _of course_ she had, the whole thing had just been such a miscommunicated mess that to hold a grudge would have been simply nonsensical. But Jemma knew the reality of it; she could see it behind Skye’s gaze.

Skye no longer trusted her.

And Jemma Simmons no longer knew who she was without the unwavering trust of the two people she loves most in the world.

(She _still_ doesn’t.)

Shaking her head, Jemma forces some semblance of normalcy back into her voice.

‘And then, of course, the entire thing with Bobbi and Mack, not to mention all that Coulson had kept from me over the past year or so.’ Her hands creep up to the back of her neck, instinctively seeking their resting place, before she catches herself.

( _Be conscious of how you wear your stress_ , May had instructed her, light years ago.

Jemma folds her hands neatly in her lap.)

‘I couldn’t stay,’ she mutters in conclusion, watching her companions for their reaction. Kara’s completely silent, visibly stunned by it all.

But Ward – 

Ward mostly just looks sad for her. For all she’s lost.

And, she realises, he might just be the only person who truly understands the weight of that loss.

Jemma holds his gaze for the longest time, heavy with terrible understanding, before she tears it away and looks back out at the road once more. A quiet stillness reigns then, the only noise coming from the occasional jolt of the truck, cargo shifting around unsteadily.

‘What have you been doing for all this time, though?’ Kara asks eventually. ‘Aside from averting death – very well, might I add.’

Jemma feels something like a smile tug at her lips at that, and she almost startles at the impulse. She hasn’t had much cause to smile lately, really, and it’s a welcome change.

It quickly dies when she considers the past few months, however.

Volunteering at a string of aid and triage centres – every building the same, every patient blurring into a single face of pain, of suffering. Two fruitless trips to Agent Weaver’s safehouse. A smattering of scars marring her otherwise clear skin. A nasty blade wound on her right bicep.

(Privately, she thinks she hasn’t done _that_ good a job of averting death; rather, she suspects she’s subconsciously been chasing it, taunting it. Courting it.)

She can’t tell them this.

‘I was looking for Anne Weaver, at first,’ _to try to help Skye_ , she mentally provides, ‘but it seems as though she went down with the Academy.’

Kara and Ward meet each other’s eyes significantly at that, another silent conversation pinging between the two, and Jemma frowns. 

‘What?’

Ward hesitates, but Kara jumps right in. ‘We heard there are a few strongholds of Academy Cadets around the place.’

That gets Jemma’s attention. She uncrosses her legs, sitting up a little straighter.

‘They got out alive?’

‘That’s what we heard. We were going to go check it out; that’s where we’re headed now, actually.’

Ward’s regarding her calmly, and when he speaks, it’s only to her. ‘You could come with us, Simmons.’

Jemma stares.

She…

Could she?

She _wants_ to, she recognises suddenly. She _wants_ to rebuild, to do something, anything, to make up for all the harm she’s caused. This could help her to tip the scales.

But she can’t. How can she – she _can’t_.

Not with Ward.

That’s when she becomes aware of the truck pulling into a gentle halt. 

‘Why are we stopping?’ Jemma breathes, instantly on edge. The two specialists have tensed up just as much, quickly climbing to their feet, so Jemma follows their lead. She’s about to protest the way they’ve both placed themselves between her and the open back of the truck (because _really_ , she’s not some fragile little flower anymore, she can handle herself) when Ward suddenly yells.

_‘Ambush!’_

All hell breaks loose.

A small squadron of assailants rush at Kara and Ward, spilling outwards onto the side of the road, and these men must have been here already, Jemma realises in horror. They’d been waiting.

_Martin delivered us to them._

Kara and Ward are rapidly dispersing the men, efficiently depleting their numbers, and Jemma quickly surges forward into the fray to help. It’s mere seconds before she’s struck in the face, staggering backwards and falling onto her bum. Stunned, fumbling, her hands immediately go for her inside pocket, for the dagger safely stashed away there.

When she looks back up, Kara and Ward have almost dealt with _all of them_.

And then suddenly, there’s a guy lunging at Ward from behind and Ward can’t see him, he can’t _see_ , and Jemma doesn’t even think before she’s throwing herself in the assailant’s path and bringing the knife up in front of her, protecting her, protecting _them_  –

It sinks home.

She feels something wet spread across her torso.

The man falls forward, all of his weight landing on her, and he makes a horrible gurgling sound.

Then –

Nothing.

Dead weight.

Her knees buckle.

_Oh, God._

Jemma pushes him off her, knowing what she’s going to see before she even sees it, and yet _not_ looking isn’t an option here.

The man flops onto his back, lifeless.

A knife protrudes from his chest.

_Trip’s knife._

‘No,’ she breathes, feeling the familiar burn of tears springing into her eyes instantly. She starts shaking her head.

‘No no no no no – ’

And then Ward’s next to her, reaching out to pull her away from the body but _no_ , he doesn’t understand that was Trip’s knife that was his _trust_ he’d _trusted her with that_ –

‘Simmons – ’

‘ _Don’t_ ,’ she cries, flinching away from his touch.

‘You need to leave him,’ Ward reasons.

‘No!’ she half-sobs. Hands shaking violently, she presses a finger to his neck to search for a pulse.

_Trip trusted me with that._

Nothing.

There’s no pulse. 

She just killed a man. With Trip’s weapon.

_Trip trusted me with his life._

Looking down, she finally notices that the front of her blouse is soaked through with blood. There is blood under her torn, uneven fingernails.

(So, so much blood on her hands. So much blood she can never clean off.)

She’s going to throw up.

A terrified yelp pulls her back to the present, reminding her that they’re not out of danger yet, and it’s almost as though she’s in some kind of fugue state as she reaches out and shakily pulls the knife from her assailant’s chest. Absently wiping it on her jeans (she’s going to be sick she’s going to be _sick_ ), she follows as Ward rounds the back of the truck and heads towards the pained noises.

(She doesn’t look at the bodies.)

It’s not a comforting sight that greets them.

Their driver is splayed on the ground, on his back with his hands up in surrender. Kara stands over him. She has her gun raised, pointed at his head.

Jemma’s heart sinks.

‘Martin?’ Kara’s asking, and Jemma’s immediately alarmed at the shaky, high-pitched quality to the other woman’s voice. She steps forward to say something – what, exactly, she isn’t sure, just _anything_ – but she’s halted by Ward’s arm held out in front of her.

When she looks up at him, he only shakes his head.

(He’s painstakingly careful to avoid touching her.)

‘You’ve been selling SHIELD people out to Hydra?’ Kara’s asking their driver. He grimaces.

‘Don’t act like this is personal.’

On Jemma’s right, Ward goes tense.

‘Did you tell them about me?’ Kara asks, voice small and level all of a sudden. Deadly intent drips from her every word. Jemma feels like she can’t breathe.

The man, Martin, only opens and shuts his mouth a couple of times.

‘ _Did you tell them –?’_

‘Yes! Okay? Yes, I told them how to get to you.’

 _Shit_.

Kara’s shaking. Ward is impossibly tense.

‘But you have to understand, it was only – ’ 

He never gets to finish voicing his excuse. Kara’s gunshot is like a lethal thunderclap, bouncing off the surrounding trees, sounding its deadly echo throughout the countryside.

The slump of their driver’s lifeless body to the ground is sickeningly banal in comparison.

When Jemma looks back up, Ward’s already grabbing their things out of the back of the truck, moving exceptionally quickly.

‘They’ve got radios, so they’ll be expecting a check-in. We’ve only got a few minutes to get out before they send back-up.’

Kara’s face is shadowed when she turns to look at Jemma, haunted, but her intent is clear. Jemma knows what the other woman will say before she even says it.

What she doesn’t know is how she’ll answer.

(There’s _so much blood._ )

‘Jemma. Come with us.’ 

It takes Jemma a moment to find her voice.

‘What are you even planning on doing?’ she asks, and the defeat in her voice is audible even to herself. Kara waits until Jemma meets her eyes before answering. 

‘We’re making sure those kids aren’t _used_ ,’ Kara utters quietly.

The _like I was_ goes unsaid. Belatedly, Jemma realises Kara knows what happened with Donnie, too.

(Jemma has so much blood on her hands. She’s _drenched_ in it _._ )

She can’t possibly…

Jemma looks to Ward, sure her eyes are as wild and desperate as she feels. She doesn’t even remotely care.

‘Why are _you_ doing this?’

He meets her eyes evenly. ‘Someone has to.’

‘This is – ’ she shakes her head. No. She can’t. She couldn’t. 

This is _Ward_.

She absolutely can’t. 

‘We’re going to make things right,’ Kara insists. ‘Come with us.’

Ward’s still just _looking_ at her.

He _sees_.

‘Are you in?’ 

Jemma can only shake her head, over and over and over.

‘Why not?’ Ward asks, frustration creeping into his voice.

‘I can’t _trust_ you!’ she blurts, suddenly aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Do you understand that? I can’t.’

His jaw is tense, but his eyes are unfathomably sad. Jemma swallows down a hiccupping sob.

‘I looked into your eyes, and you were Grant Ward.’ She takes a deep, rattling breath in, but she won’t break eye contact. He needs to _understand_ , damn it. ‘You were Grant Ward, and you dropped me to my death anyway.’

And Ward doesn’t deny it. He can’t.

But he doesn’t look away.

‘Are you in?’ he repeats simply. 

Is she?

Everything she’s done, every little thing she’s ever pursued in order to help people, it’s all been for naught. She’s brought only pain – to her friends, to her loved ones, to innocent bystanders. She’s held herself apart these many months, but it’s achieved exactly nothing, succeeding only in inflicting herself on even more people. All she’s done is increase her blast radius.

It’s time to reset the balance. It’s time to atone.

(This needs to _end._ ) 

Jemma Simmons squares her shoulders and raises her chin, looking him directly in the eyes.

‘I’m in.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!


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